Standard
warnings apply. Actually, the site already has warnings. Just to make
sure, here're more. ^_^ Most of this is actually fiction but some situations
have been taken from real life. The names of the characters are made
up/fictional - if there are people with the same names somewhere out
there, that is purely coincidental.

As with most stories, the
author retains all rights to this story. Without the permission of
the author, no reproductions or links to other sites are allowed.

This deals with
male homosexual love. If you are not of legal age (18 or 21, it depends
actually where), or if you live/are in a place where material such
as this is illegal, or if you are simply offended by homosexuality
and/or homosexual themes, please leave.

This story has
no sex scenes in it. ^_^

“I don’t know if I can
make him happy, Ossie.”

Sara looked down at her plate, playing
with the last few bits of cheesecake, running a few crumbs around
with some syrup. It was strange, sitting there, with this girl - this
virtually perfect girl - and seeing her seem so unsure of herself.
And what made it stranger was the fact that she was the fiancee of
someone I still cared too much about. Ok. Fine. Someone I was still
in love with. I guess I have to admit that to myself at least.

If anyone asked me if it were possible
to still be in love with someone after 4 years of separation 4 years
ago, I would've laughed at his face.

Tentatively, I asked, "How come?"

She looked back up at me then looked
over at the fish tank. "I don't know." In the fish tanks,
large groupers were swimming around peacefully, blissfully unaware
that soon they may end up on bright white serving plates. And ultimately,
in the bellies of the kids who were gaping at them. It seemed downright
cruel to just think that.

After letting out a sigh, she continued,
"Ossie, do you know what he's been doing? I mean, after you left?"
This was one of the main reasons why Sara wanted to have lunch. She
wanted to have a talk about Kyle.

I shook my head. "We wrote to
each other, but eventually..." I trailed off, finishing quietly,
"it stopped."

Her brow knotted a bit, producing
a rather curious, questioning look. It made her look like one of those
inquisitive kids who'd just discovered an anthill and wondered how
all the ants could fit into a hole in the ground.

But she didn't pursue the "why"
just the same. Yes, she was that considerate.

"He changed, Ossie." She
started. "He was one of the more popular guys back when you were
still at school. You know that. He was always at parties, or events
or whatever. Just to show up. He'd meet all these different people."
Then she stopped again. "But then, after a while, he got into
different things. Well, actually, 'different' is putting it mildly."

Since I didn't know how to react, I
just sat quietly, trying to listen everything that she said. Different?

"He started behaving weirdly,
Ossie. He started drinking more often. His dad even thought he was
into some form of substance abuse." I could tell she was having
a difficult time saying each sentence. She had to pause and take deep
breaths once in a while. Still she carried on. "He got wilder.
He tried many different things. How different, I couldn't really tell.
But whatever it was, whatever lifestyle he was leading got to his
dad. It wasn't pretty."

She looked up at me then tried to smile.

"When his dad died, Kyle was a
wreck. All of a sudden, he resolved to change himself. Then he asked
me to marry him."

At that, I swallowed hard. What was
going on here? I didn't understand anything. And part of me felt shaken.
What was Kyle doing? Was it that bad that it affected his father's
already precarious condition?

"Through it all," she continued,
"I tried to be there for him. But it was like he was there but
he wasn't there. He seemed so far away. Even now, he still does."

Looking at Sara across the table, I
couldn't help but think that time really made so many things different.
It wasn't her youthful bubbly self talking. She didn't smile. She
just looked tired. Exhausted.

I didn't know what to feel when she
said what she said next.

"I couldn't make him happy. But
I know that he was happiest with you."

I should've felt glad that he was.
But somehow it just made me feel bad.

"What made you say that?"
My voice was shaky.

She reached over and took my hand
and squeezed it gently, giving me a soft smile. The type you see on
the images of saints.

"Whenever he'd talk about you,
how you two got along before... I mean, he always talks about you.
And whenever he would, it's like he'd have this glow. I can't describe
it, really." At that point, she looked like an angel. Like she
didn't belong here. "It's like, he's really happy."

This time, I was the one playing with
my dessert. The last few bits of bittersweet chocolate cake rolled
around with my fork.

"Kyle can't do things for himself.
When he tries, he tends to exaggerate things." Remembering how
we had dinner on his helipad that first night we worked on our psych
project together... just because he wanted to apologize. I had to
smile in spite of myself. A small smile. One that can easily be suppressed.

Sara continued, "He has a hard
time expressing himself," taking a deep breath once more, she
added, pleadingly, "Ossie, would you please talk to him?"

I looked up at her. Her face registered
deperation and anxiety. It made me feel compelled to just go out,
find him and try to talk - no matter how scared I was of what he might
say.

Slowly, I answered, "Sara... I
don't know if I can." I stopped. Realizing that she might suspect
anything, I continued, "I don't know why... but he doesn't want
to talk to me." It's true. It's like he moved to another planet
and put up some wall around it to keep me out.

It was one of those long pauses where
time seems to stop. Or at least, where everything feels like slow
motion. Soon she broke the silence.

"We're supposed to get married
in December, Ossie," she added, uncertain, "Am I doing the
right thing?"

I wanted to tell her not to push through.
Part of me simply said you can't get married if you aren't sure about
things. This is a lifetime of being together. But seeing her like
that, I knew that she really loved him. If it took her so much just
to put the pieces of the puzzle together for me - just to give me
a picture of how things were, no matter how hazy. And to practically
beg me to help him.

"He needs a girl like you, Sara."

As a teacher's assistant, I had a rather
wide repertoire of duties. Of course, "repertoire" isn't
the right term, but I want to sound sophisticated, so... "repertoire."
Among these, I had to check some tests, give lectures in the absence
of Dr. Vergara, I even had to do some cleaning work at the department.
Well, no, I don't have to weild a mop and pail or anything like that.
Cleaning duty for TAs has to do with looking at old submissions and
tossing some of them out.

In the makeshift warehouse of the
department, I switched a small electric fan on to give me some ventilation.
It was a rather small area - just about the size that'd make me claustrophobic
enough to leave the door open.

Somehow, as I sifted through the old
papers and some old projects, I felt guilty at having to choose some
to throw out. It couldn't be helped. File space was limited. And with
the growing number of students at the university every year, some
things have to be sent away. But then, these are things that students
worked on. They put their effort into them, no matter how low a grade
they got. Well, ok, maybe not all. I just saw a term paper that was
two pages long.

Still, it somehow made me feel guilty
at having to throw them, even sending them to a recycling station
- and being the one responsible for choosing who goes where. I felt
like I was giving out death sentences.

Many projects dated back a few years.
One from last sem, one from a year ago, one from two years ago. Digging
deeper and deeper into the archive, making a pile under "to throw
out" and "to keep" was difficult to say the least.
Of course, I had to choose which ones to keep based on grades. But
since teachers had different standards on what separates an A from
a B+, I had to read some.

Then one project caught my eye.

"In partial fulfillment of the
requirements of General Psychology, submitted by Chan and Lopez."

"Though that's one of the better
projects," she grinned, "you may take that with you."
I just mumbled my thanks as she disappeared from the doorway.

Sitting down, I found myself flipping
through the pages. It was just like yesterday. Me driving through
the Weeping Willows, the Fire Trees all in bloom. Kyle waiting for
me in his room.

I miss that summer.

The stages of development were all
there. Just the way I remembered them.

Trust vs. Mistrust... Kyle
as a baby. His time with his mom; being fed by maids.

Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt...
Kyle painting on the walls of his room, mimicking cave paintings.

Initiative vs. Guilt... Kyle
trying to be independent but missing his potty and being scolded for
it.

Industry vs. Inferiority...
Kyle as a talkative student, always sent to stand at the back of the
classroom after being caught chatting with a seatmate.

Identity vs. Identity Confusion...
Kyle the party animal, Kyle Mr. Popular... but also Kyle, the guy
who snuggled with me.

Then, the last one - at least for
this project. Intimacy vs. Isolation.

I never did get to read this part.
At least, Kyle's Intimacy vs. Isolation part. The last part of the
project was supposed to be an individual pass - a reflection of how
the project went. And how the partners were able to relate with each
other. This developmental stage was about seeing how well young adults
form social relationships with each other. It wasn't necessarily about
romance or falling in love. Although... well... part of that sort
of happened between us.

Carefully turning the page, as if it
were a page from the Bible, I started to read.

When I first met Osmond, I thought
he only cared about books and studying and working

Heh. Typical. Stereotypical, in fact.

But then, as we were working together,
I found out that he's not only about that. And I feel like a jerk
treating him the way I did...

... I can be anyone with him.
I don't need to be someone. Just anyone and he's okay with that...

I guess those were our different similarities.
We both wanted to please people. We just did it differently. While
I was busy with work to get people to like me, he was busy being someone
everyone else envied. Sometime ago Dr. Vergara said something about
him being somewhat like me. She said that it seemed like he was lonely.

I guess it does get lonely, always
trying to be someone "more."

...I don't know why. But I guess
I was afraid. There's something about Ossie that draws me to him...

I was surprised to find that his essay
was actually long. Longer than mine, in fact. And they used to say
I write novels for short essay questions.

... and that scares me. I don't
know why, but I feel like I've started to feel things for him that
I'm not supposed to feel...

... I thought that maybe, if I
treated him like dirt, I'd see him as dirt. Maybe he'd look ugly to
me but he never did. I guess I really am a jerk...

All of a sudden, I wanted to put the
paper down. But I couldn't. I just kept reading, line by line, on
and on. I didn't know what was happening to me. Somehow I know it
was better for me to just stop.

... he's been nothing but patient
with me while doing the paper. I hope - or rather, I know - that even
after we'll be really good friends...

... I feel different when I'm
with him. He makes me feel happy and safe. I hope I could make him
happy too. But I'm afraid don't know how to...

... And I guess at this point,
I know I love him. But I'm afraid of loving him.

I hadn't realized that I started crying.

It was a Saturday and I was busy being...
not busy at home. Trying to find new things to do is a good way to
keep yourself busy. As soon as I started cleaning up in the kitchen,
I heard three knocks on the front door. Well, not knocks, but, three...
bangs.

I thought that maybe kids from the
street were throwing stones at our front door, or that a gang of bandits
would raid our house - at any rate, when I slowly opened the door, I
was surprised to find the guy who seemed to pop out a lot whenever
I wouldn't expect him to.

Kyle.

But I didn't know if I was happy to
see him. He... to put it mildly, he seemed agitated.

He quickly pushed the door aside,
charged at me, shouting, "You think you can just come back all
of a sudden?! Pretend that everything's okay?! Well you can't! You
can't expect everything to be the same as before!" His eyes were
misting up. But before a single tear could fall, he turned, stormed
out, leaving me with the aftertaste of a one-sided fight.

To think Sara wanted me to talk with
him. I guess he really does overdo things sometimes.

I just stood there, facing
our entrance. I couldn't tell him that I wasn't pretending everything
was okay. Pretending's different from hoping.

In my reverie, before I fell asleep,
I thought of what happened that afternoon. If nothing mattered...
why did he even bother to come?

The conclusion will come in the
next chapter. Again, I'd be happy to hear your comments and suggestions
at robbie_is_still@yahoo.com.